


Alpha and Omega

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Time, PTSD, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 12:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hates feeling like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alpha and Omega

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Droogie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droogie/gifts).



> I know its been done before, but this is my version of the events in Elle's hotel room in _Aftermath_.

"No, please.....come in."

If Reid heard the sarcasm, he gave no sign of it, and once he was past the threshold of her room Elle realized she wasn't surprised. Spencer seemed to take everything at face value unless they were dealing with an UnSub, which meant he was either immune to snark or just chose not to recognize it. She was already a little drunk, the airplane-sized bottles arrayed on the table close to the television, and when she practically dared him to drink with her, he acquiesced. The overhead lights reflected off the lenses of his glasses. She'd only invited him in in a half-assed way because she knew he was worried. And because if she didn't, he might mention it to Hotch. She'd worked too hard to get a spot in the BAU just because of...

" _It was one rule._ "

" _No._ "

" _One rule, Agent Greenaway._ "

" _Stop_."

Strange how after all this time she could still hear the gun going off, the bullet slamming into her chest. And then Garner's fingers in her wounds. Someone, probably Hotch, had washed the blood off of her wall, but in her nightmares she could still see the word, **RULES** , glaring at her, a sharp contrast to the white paint. Elle looked down into her glass, barely suppressing the shiver.

Spencer was not quite as obtuse as he sometimes acted. Growing up with Diana, he'd come to be able to gauge her moods and know when she was about to go through a bad patch. So he wasn't entirely unaware of how Elle felt. That didn't mean he knew what to do for her, but he hoped that his presence was helping. Maybe if she talked about it...

"Please."

And so she told him. She told him everything, because she wanted to feel...to feel _not like this_. She was a Brooklyn girl, and that meant she was tough and determined, and now something that had once been solid had a hairline crack running through it. It was just a crack and not a split, but even a crack was too much. Elle could feel the threads within her soul unraveling, becoming a tangled knot, and she was looking for a way to knit them back together and make them whole again. And really, she should have known that Reid would be able to get to her. She'd watched him break Eric Miller down with a single question, and _she_ wasn't even in prison. She was just drunk and angry and fucked up.

"You want to see what I won, Reid?"

One of the small minibar bottles clattered to the table's surface, joining its fellows like yet another dead soldier, and Elle's knees almost refused to lock when she got out of the chair. Her head was going to be the size of Boston tomorrow, but she didn't care. She could sleep it off on the plane. When she started to drag her shirt off over her head, it got briefly tangled around her elbows.

Alarmed, Spencer sat forward in his own chair, and his glass had already been forgotten. He wasn't much of a drinker, and maybe there should be one sober person in the room. Elle's bra was light gray, and he had the fleeting thought that at least she was wearing one. He looked up at her face after catching a glimpse of the fresh scar.

She could tell he hadn't expected that, and she had a moment's worth of mean satisfaction. So the guy who could get under a convicted felon's skin could, in fact, be shocked. Elle would have laughed if she hadn't felt like bursting into tears.

"Look at it." Her words were slightly slurred, and she glared across the table at him over the bottles of booze. The one that had fallen over hadn't been entirely empty, and a small puddle had formed on the table top. It reminded her of blood, her blood, the blood she'd lain in after she'd called 911. Just before she passed out. "Look at it, Reid. Look at what I 'won'." Her voice cracked on the last word, but her eyes stayed locked on his face.

And that was _all_ Spencer could look at now, the closed, puckered wound on Elle's breastbone. He'd taken his glasses off, because he only really needed them for reading, and he sat forward again, his gaze tracing over the brunette's half-bared torso. He'd always thought of Elle as tough. Not _macho_ tough like Hotch, but with a hard core underneath feminine softness. And he could still see that toughness now, even though there was a rupture within it. Hazel eyes wandered up to her face, which was more angular than usual, then back down to the scar.

"Ugly, isn't it?"

He looked older without his glasses, or maybe she was just drunk. Elle's hands were fisted at her asides, and she wished he'd _say_ something instead of just sitting there. She needed some kind of reaction, because otherwise she was making a spectacle out of herself for no reason. "Damn it, say something."

"No."

Spencer punctuated the single word with a headshake, and his left hand moved to toy with the glass he'd been drinking from, turning it around and around. Some of the spilled alcohol made a ring under the glass base. He was always toying with things, she'd noticed. A pen, his glasses, the knot of his tie. His hands were very expressive. He was wearing a tie now, and the knot was crooked. Elle took a ragged breath.

"No what?"

"No, it isn't ugly."

He'd folded up his glasses and put them aside, and his left hand was still fiddling with his drink. Around and around and around, spreading the spilled booze in a circle. He was young and he was shy and he was awkward, but every now and then...every now and then a sliver of alpha male would peek out from underneath that quiet exterior. His eyes were fixed on Elle's troubled face. 

"Stand up."

The chair creaked, and she was reminded of how tall Spencer was. His hands were at his sides, leaving the glass at rest. She wobbled a little when she closed the distance, grasped the back of her chair for balance. He smelled like some spicy kind of soap. His eyes were large and soft with sympathy and something else, the color of warm caramel. 

When she kissed him, he wasn't surprised, at least not completely. Lila Archer had reacted in much the same way, and it had taken him a while to get past how it made him feel. He wasn't sure where to put his hands, and when they ended up on Elle's shoulders her skin was much warmer than he'd expected. Her bra straps felt odd under his fingers, and they flexed against the elastic. He could taste the tequila on her mouth when he inexpertly kissed her back.

"Wait. Elle, wait."

Spencer obviously hadn't had much experience with kissing, and she backed off, but her index fingers had latched onto his belt loops. She wasn't so drunk that she'd drag him into anything kicking and screaming. She was hurt, she was wounded, but she wasn't completely out of her mind.

"Reid..."

One of those dextrous hands touched her face, fingertips skating over a sharp cheekbone. He was picturing Hotch's reaction, Gideon's reaction, their disapproval. Fraternization was tacitly against the rules, and was Elle really in any condition to make this consensual on her part? But she'd never looked at him like _that_ before, as if he was the only thing that stood a chance of saving her. Tough, sturdy Elle. At least all of his scars were invisible. But he hadn't been lying, he didn't think hers was ugly. Spencer swallowed.

"I don't know what to do." A frown creased his brow, and he self-corrected that to, "I _wouldn't_ know what to do."

Her expression shifted, then shifted again as comprehension dawned. A hesitant smile touched her mouth, and she carefully grasped his wrist, then interlocked their fingers. If she knew him at all, she knew he was probably a quick study. The nimble fingers of his other hand touched her newly-short hair, and despite the tremble in his hands he had an erection he hadn't quite acknowledged yet.

"We'll go slow," she said, and he went when she tugged him towards the bed. "If you get uncomfortable, we'll stop. Whatever happens, no regrets."

She helped him take his sweater vest off, then undid his tie before starting in on his shirt buttons. He still wasn't sure of where to put his hands. He'd had little to no practical experience with physicality, but he quickly discovered that he liked kissing, and Elle's warm solidity had his pants tighter than ever. He toed his loafers off of his feet. When they lay down on the mattress, he pulled her after him. 

She had to guide his hands at first, show him where to touch and what made her feel good, but she was patient about it. Whatever she'd been thinking about before was no longer an issue, and that was the entire point. Spencer was the only only she could trust right now, for this. Because she could see his eyes and that he cared about her. And once she got him out of his khakis and down to his underwear (briefs, not boxers) she'd realized that he was, indeed, a very fast study. 

Spencer's head was spinning, not from drinking but from the smell and feel of her. He'd been reluctant to tell anyone he was a virgin, and there had been a small part of him that had hoped JJ would be more interested in him, but Elle was...Elle was real and she was strong, and if he could fix what Randall Garner had broken, then he was honored to try doing it. He only hoped he didn't disappoint her. Her left nipple was in his mouth, his hand between her legs. Learning her body the way he learned everything else, through study.

She rolled the condom on for him, and he alternated between watching her face and her hands. "On your back," she murmured, easing him backwards again. Because that way she could control the pace. Elle made slow work of kissing his mouth, her fingers kneading his shoulders. Hotch would kill them both if he knew, and he'd kill her first for 'taking advantage'. But Hotch wasn't here.

She lowered herself onto Spencer an inch at the time, and he let out a startled noise at how good it felt. His fingers gripped the sheets, knotting into the fabric. "Easy, baby," the brunette said, and that was the first and only time she'd call him that. His hands crawled up her thighs, settled on her hips. 

Elle started to move, and it took the younger profiler a minute to catch on to her rhythm. She was watching his face, and he looked equal parts startled and awed. And when she leaned down to kiss him, it was full of feeling that had nothing to do with the sound of a gun going off. As unschooled as he may have been, there was something in Spencer that could be perfectly dominant when he felt like being that way. That was why she liked him, and that was why he was here right now.

He didn't last long, but he lasted long enough for her to come, and then he surprised her by rolling her onto her back and fingering her until she climaxed again. She was still quivering when he said, "Was that...was that okay? I mean, did I...?"

She touched one finger to his lips, and he kissed the tip of it shyly, his eyes devouring the sight of her, warm and sated next to him. He'd be thinking back on this for a long time, the way her eagerness had combined with her patience, and he kissed her cheek softly. 

"I like you." Spencer whispered it, as if the others would hear him through the walls.

"I like you too." Elle's voice was drowsy, and she cupped his jaw before kissing him on the mouth.

His arms were thin, but they were strong, and when he put them around her and bundled her against his chest, it made her feel safe. And just for a little while, everything was okay again.


End file.
